Page 27 of Can't Stop Watching

But still. It's something. A crack in her armor, matching the fissures in mine.

Maybe we're both just waiting for someone who understands that darkness isn't always the enemy. Sometimes it's just the shadow cast by a truth we're not ready to face.

A smile stretches my lips, and I pick up the razor. I need to look good tonight.

10

LILA

I'm not even sure why I keep looking at the door. Every time the bell jingles, my heart does this stupid little flutter thing, and then immediately plummets when it's not him. It's pathetic, really. Like I'm in some badly written rom-com where the quirky bartender pines for the mysterious stranger.

"Another gin and tonic, please," calls Mr. Henderson, a regular I've gotten acquainted with. The guy thinks tipping five percent is being generous.

"Coming right up," I say, forcing a smile that looks convincing enough to the average drunk.

I'm mixing the drink when the door opens again, and I'm trying to train myself not to look. Not to care. But there's a shift in the air, like the barometric pressure just dropped before a storm.

It's him.

Dane walks in—no, not walks—he moves like water finding its path, deliberate and inevitable. Clean-shaven, hair styled just enough to look careless, and wearing a dark blue button-downthat makes his gray eyes pop like thunder against an evening sky.

Fuck.

"Hey," I manage, and my voice doesn't betray me. Thank God.

"Hey yourself." His voice is gravel and whiskey, and something inside me liquifies.

I slide Mr. Henderson's drink down the bar and turn back to Dane, trying for casual. "The usual?"

"If you remember it." There's that half-smile, the one that transforms his face from dangerous to devastating.

"Maker's Mark, neat." I pour two fingers worth, definitely not watching how his forearms flex as he rests his hands on the bar top.

"You remember." He sounds pleased.

I shrug, fighting the heat rising in my cheeks. "It's my job."

When I slide his drink over, our fingers brush. The contact is electric, embarrassingly so. I pull back too quickly, nearly knocking over a bottle.

"Careful there," he murmurs.

I risk meeting his eyes. "So... about that dinner."

The corner of his mouth twitches upward. "Changed your mind?"

I take a deep breath, channeling Tessa's confidence. "Maybe. If the offer still stands."

Something shifts in his expression—surprise, pleasure, relief?—before he carefully arranges his features into that controlled mask again.

"It stands."

"I need to pick the place," I say, wiping down the bar with unnecessary focus. It comes out more commanding than I'd planned, but I'm not taking it back. I'm not stepping into the lion's den without the upper hand.

Dane lifts his glass, taking a slow sip while watching me over the rim. I pretend not to notice how his throat works as he swallows.

"Of course. My aim is to please you," he says.

Holy fuck!